


Seconds

by NowThatsDedication



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Cute rambunctious obnoxious young Kili, Sentimental fluffy stuff, uncle advice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-09 11:55:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7800928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NowThatsDedication/pseuds/NowThatsDedication
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Young Kíli doesn't believe he’ll ever measure up; he's not the “special” first born, and he can't seem to stay out of trouble. </p>
<p>But he is given a new outlook after learning Thorin’s secret and having a heart-to-heart with him about life, death, and the importance of brothers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seconds

“I'm here, I'm here, Uncle!”

Thorin braces himself. Kíli is a sweet child, promising, eager, but also an unstoppable force of energy that he isn't sure he can control.

He momentarily questions why he agreed to this in the first place, but recalls it was at his sister's insistence. It is always difficult to say no to a sibling.

“Let Kíli have some alone time with you, it will do him good,” she had asked. “And besides, Fíli needs a break.” Even steadfast little Fíli can lose patience with a whirlwind like Kíli.   
  
“Uncle, Uncle! Look what I can do, look!” The third in line to a lost throne is buzzing around the room in a frenzy. He clasps tightly around Thorin’s leg, whose boot reaches higher than his nephew’s dark head.

“Alright Kíli, settle down. Let go.”

Thorin dislikes disobedience (“It shows weakness, to not follow orders,” he was conditioned to believe since youth), but his nephews are granted a pass on this. They aren’t quite running wild, but they get away with more than he ever could. Different times, different situations. They will straighten out sooner than later.

“Look! You're not looking! Here!” Kíli shoves an assortment of miniature weapons into Thorin’s arms, which he dutifully accepts, not that he has much choice in the matter.

“And this one too, look at this one! It's very sharp and I can keep it, Fíli said. I can fight with it!”

You have to speak quickly and loudly to be heard, Kíli has learned. Or else you fade quietly into the background, like a dull tapestry that one notices briefly but has no opinion of. Just there. And Kíli would hate to be merely there.

The extra attention Fíli receives due to the luck of birth order is noted by Kíli. “Why can't I be important too?” he laments. “You're important to ME,” Fíli always responds, annoyed but sincere.

"He's not better than you, he's merely older than you," his elders explain, but to Kíli, that makes little difference. Being older provides Fíli the opportunities to do more than he can.

“Kíli, take a breath…”

“Let’s play dragon! You’re the dragon!”

“Yes, we can. But wait. Hold on Kíli, I...Kíli!

Kíli has already climbed up a table and is at eye level with Thorin, ready to pounce like a predatory beast of the forests. Thorin’s arms are still full of Kíli’s various treasures and he isn't ready to catch him. In fact, he does not believe Kíli would be so foolish to jump.

But, against better judgment, Kíli leaps. He spectacularly miscalculates. When he realizes there are no hands to grab him, he reaches for his uncle's clothes, hair, whatever he can grasp. His fingers tangle around a thin chain on Thorin’s neck, one he’s never noticed before and has uncovered in his frantic scrambling. But it has always been there, hidden.

Kíli lands on his back with a gasp, the pain of regret outweighing the ache in his lungs. His discomfort is temporarily vanquished by the curious chain clutched in his hand. On further examination, he spies a small ring dangling from it. Gold, with a sparkling blue stone.

“Kíli!” Thorin roars. He swipes the chain from him, and, perhaps because his paternal reflex is still being honed, lifts Kíli to his feet moments after. Visibly peeved, he unsnarls the necklace and inspects the ring for damage, muttering under his breath in the language Kíli is beginning to learn. He picks up the word “damned” because Fíli taught him that one. They hear it often.

Kíli never intentionally sets out to annoy his uncle. These things just seem to happen.

“I’m sorry, I'm sorry!” he pleads. “Did I break it?”

“No, thank Mahal,” Thorin mumbles and clasps it back on behind his hair.

“What is it?” Kíli is surprised his uncle would be so perturbed over a piece of jewelry; he lets Fíli and Kíli play with loose gems and diamond chips all the time (they make decent projectiles). It must be special.

“It belonged to my brother.”  
  
“You have a brother?” Kíli is startlingly unaware of this fact and is certain he never heard about it before. Or maybe he wasn’t listening, which happens often. He anticipates sharing the news with Fíli, but Fíli might already know. He knows everything.

“Can I meet him?”

“No, you cannot.” Thorin reminds himself he is speaking to a child.

“Why not? I’m good, would he not like to see me?” Kíli wonders, slightly offended.

“He returned to the stone. A long time ago.”

Kíli may not understand what a euphemism is, but he understands well enough what Thorin means. For the first time all day, he is silent and still. Respect and solemnity are “signs of strength,” he was taught.

“I'm sorry,” he says, because that is what you are supposed to say when one is no longer here. Although it made little sense to Kíli. What was he sorry for? Being alive?

His uncle nods and grazes the ring with his thumb.

“Why didn't you ever tell me about him? In your stories?” Kíli hates being left out. What other family secrets has he been excluded from?

Ashamed, Thorin struggles to explain. “There are some matters that, considering your youth and innocence, shall remain untold until you can better understand.”

Kíli deciphers that to mean “you're too young.” Yet again, he is thwarted by his age.

He tries to visualize his secret uncle, using Thorin as a reference. Perhaps he was a little shorter, because Thorin is the tallest dwarf he has ever seen, and perhaps he had a softer face, because he can’t imagine it could be any more stern than Thorin’s right now.

“What’d he look like?”  
  
Thorin suppresses an aching sensation deep inside. “A little like you. A little like Fíli, and like your mother and myself.”

Kíli is pleased to resemble someone Thorin admired. He tires of being called “that scrawny lad” and hearing “he doesn’t look much like a Durin.”

“How is that possible?”

“Because we are family. We share traits.”

“Traits?” Kíli doesn't want to share any more than what he already has to.

“Your appearance or demeanor, for good or bad.”

Kíli responds with a blank stare. “Demeanor?”

“Your personality.”

“I don’t think I have one of those yet. Maybe when I’m older?”

“Oh, you do.”

“Did your brother boss you around too? Always telling you ‘play fair,’ and ‘stop,’ and ‘don't touch that?’”

Kíli shoves his hand in his pocket and is greeted with something sticky he had forgotten about until now. He wipes it on his knee and waits for Thorin to answer.

“No, I suppose I did that to him.”

Suddenly, he did feel genuinely sorry for his uncle; he no longer had a brother to boss around. And Kíli, despite his complaints, does not want to lose his. What would he do without Fíli telling him ‘stop’ and ‘get down’ and ‘you definitely shouldn't play with fire?’

“I was the eldest. It was my obligation to.”

“He was a second, like me!” Kíli’s heart swells with understanding and pity for his long-gone relation. He wishes he could ask another second son what it's like; does it get easier or harder? Would he ever be noticed?

“Would he have liked us? Me and Fíli?”

“Of course. He liked everyone. And everyone liked. him.”

That reassures Kíli. Because, although young, he knows he will never be like Thorin. But it hasn't stopped him from trying. All he really wants is to be told he is good, or he can become something good.   
  
“What… _happened_...to him?” Kíli asks, because he doesn't quite know when to stop asking questions that make others uncomfortable.

Thorin sighs. “He was headstrong, fierce, stubborn. He did not listen when I told him no.”

Kíli silently resolves to listen to Uncle and Fíli when they say no, lest he end up as nothing more than a ring on his brother’s neck.

“But it was not his fault. He was very courageous and determined. He did what he believed was right. And in that, I find solace.”

“I am courageous, sometimes.” Kíli offers, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

“You can be courageous, within reason.”

“But, how do you do what's _right_? How are you supposed to know if no one tells you?”

“You have to figure that out your own. Sometimes, the mind and the heart send you conflicting messages, and you have to decide.”

“Hmm, alright.” Kíli has second thoughts about wanting to grow up. It seems like a lot of responsibility and decision making.

Thorin tucks the ring into his shirt, signifying an end to the conversation. His long-gone brother is once again back close to his heart, and hidden.

Kíli’s attention begins to drift elsewhere. There is much much to reconcile with his newfound knowledge. He doesn't want to waste his energy on pondering about it now.

“Uncle, can we play another game?”

There is something familiar in his pleading. Thorin brightens a bit.

“I know a few, from when I was young.” He explains the rules, and hands Kíli the smallest ax with the bluntest edge, for both of their safety.

“Now, you go first.”

“No, Uncle, it's alright. I don’t mind being second.”

 

 


End file.
